


Somewhere Between Desperate and Divine

by JustAWinchesterGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, But also, Incest, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, basically Your Mouth is Poison Your Mouth is Wine in Dean's POV with a diff sex scene, in which Sam doesn't usually bottom but BOY does he know how to!, rough!sam, yeah idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWinchesterGirl/pseuds/JustAWinchesterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was Dean’s whole life. Ever since he was born, Dean had been captivated by him. He doted on that boy when he was just a baby, when his mother would let him. On May 2nd, 1983 Dean had stopped being a kid and became a Big Brother. </p><p>Sequel/Companion fic to Your Mouth is Poison, Your Mouth is Wine.<br/>You do have to read that one first to get this one.</p><p>Song title taken from Florence + the Machine's "Caught".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Between Desperate and Divine

_I can’t keep calm, I can’t keep still._

Sam was Dean’s whole life. Ever since he was born, Dean had been captivated by him. He doted on that boy when he was just a baby, when his mother would let him. On May 2nd, 1983 Dean had stopped being a kid and became a Big Brother. And six months later that identity overwhelmed everything else that he was when his father shoved Sam into his arms and told him to run.

“Watch out for Sammy. Protect Sammy.”

That was the mantra on which Dean based his life.

So it was no surprise that when Sam left them and went away to school, Dean was lost. He tried to keep just how much Sam’s leaving had affected him from his father, but it was effecting his hunting and John noticed.

“If you can’t do the damn job, Dean, maybe you should’ve gone with him!”

Dean didn’t take it too personally. He knew his dad was hurt too. Family was everything to them. It was the only thing that they had. Sam didn’t seem to see that.

Dean laid awake for far too many nights in a row. Had he done something to drive Sam away? Had he said something? Was it the constant fighting with their father that Sam wanted to escape, or was he running from his big brother too?

The thought made Dean’s chest tight and his breathing shallow. All he had ever done was protect his brother. How could he do that now that Sam was miles away?

Then, his dad had left too. It wasn’t uncommon for John to go off on hunts by himself. He often took off to take care of certain cases or to follow a lead on the thing that killed Mary; things he deemed too dangerous for his sons.

But Dean had always had Sam for company. To hunt with, to hang out with, to fight with, to take care of, to _protect_. Now he was alone.

He fought the urge to pick up the phone and call Sam. He had left them- and it made Dean’s blood boil. So he fought the urge to call him, or to take the impala and drive the hundred miles to California to go and see him. He drown it with whisky, and buried it in women- and men, admittedly.

Dean loved sex- that was no secret. Men, women, anyone who caught his eye. Anyone who could promise him a good time. Someone he could bury himself in and fuck until he forgot his problems- forgot everything but the feeling of their body and that blissful heat pooling in his groin. Someone who buried themselves in _him_ and fucked him so raw it was like he was a whole new person, never yet been touched but by their hands.

_Make me forget- forget my life, forget myself- forget **Sam**. _

But the pain and the guilt and the memories always came rushing back the next morning with the hangover and the empty motel bed next to him that should have been his brother’s.

When his dad didn’t come back or even call for what Dean decided was too long- he stopped fighting it and he went to get his brother. Sure, he could’ve just went after his dad himself- he hadn’t seen Sam in a few years and this whole thing was probably a little rash- but it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t go another minute feeling this lost, this empty. Even if Sam just turned him down and laughed in his face; at least Dean could see if he was okay.

He was fooling around when he surprised his little brother and tackled him to the ground. Just playing the way they used to- just trying to make this feel like something vaguely resembling normal. But when he caught sight of his brother’s face just inches from his in the dark- his breath caught. Having Sam in front of him again was overwhelming- that sense of purpose, of identity, of _mine_ was so strong it threw him off. It felt so right to have Sam under him like this, and he was struck by sudden terror at his own confusing feelings. His moment of weakness allowed Sam to get the upper hand and throw him off.

He hoped his little brother hadn’t noticed the totally inappropriate reaction he had had to their little scuffle.

Having Sam back in the passenger seat proved to be far more difficult than Dean could have imagined.

He had _changed._

School had changed him. He wasn’t Dean’s Sam anymore, he was almost a stranger. Someone Dean had to get to know all over again, and after 22 years of caring for someone, of protecting them, of giving them everything- it was tearing Dean apart.

There’d be glimpses of the boy he knew in Sam’s mannerisms, the way he talked, the way he _smiled_ \- but Dean had to sift through the words and actions of this new person to find _his_ Sam in the rubble.

His Sam came out when they fought- and Dean didn’t want to fight with him, but it felt so right in this shitstorm of wrong that Dean clung onto it with everything he had.

And maybe Sam noticed that, because things relaxed a little after that. Things became a little more normal- or, you know, whatever normal was for them- and with a case to focus on, Dean let himself pretend that Sam had never left. They’d made such a good team together- just like the old days- that it hurt Dean to have to take Sam back to Stanford again. Then everything changed.

Dean wasn’t _happy_ about what happened to his brother’s girlfriend. He was heartbroken for him. It was devastating, and terrifying, and he could only imagine how Sam must be feeling. But he couldn’t help but see the silver lining for what it was. He had Sam back. _His_ Sam.

And then things went back to… well, almost normal.

Except Dean’s eyes wandered in ways that they should never wander over his little brother. He had really grown up. No longer that lanky kid that had gone away, Sam was 6”4 of thick, hard muscle that towered over Dean and called to him in all the wrong ways.

They’d never been shy around each other- one of the many consequences of growing up in a multitude of various motel rooms and the backseat of a car- so Sam, of course, thought nothing of changing in front of his brother. Usually, Dean would think nothing of it either, but his stupid sex-crazed body had full control of him these days. And the only thing it could seem to think about was Sam.

That’s when Dean knew he was going to Hell.

Of course, back then, he never could have known the details of how he would get there.

Dean knew what dying felt like. He’d died that day they crashed the Impala. He’d died, and in a cruel twist of fate been brought back to life in exchange for his father. At least, he thought he knew what dying felt like.

Until the moment Sam took his last breath.

The day Sam died was the day Dean truly understood what death felt like.

Who was he, now that Sam was gone? Sam was Dean’s whole life. Now that life was drained away, lying on the table in front of him in the form of what had once been his little brother.

Dean stared down at Sam’s corpse, Sam- who he had sworn to protect with his life. Nothing _mattered_ without him. Without him, Dean didn’t have a purpose. What incentive did he have to keep fighting if it wasn’t “protect Sammy”? Who cared if the world was ending? Dean’s world already had.

But the world kept turning, and his lungs kept taking in air, and days passed without invitation from him to even exist- and, _God, why did he still exist?_

When he finally had enough, he did the only thing short of suicide he could think to do. He traded his life for his brother’s. They gave him a year. One year- that could be enough, right? One year he’d get to spend with Sam. One year in exchange for eighty, ninety more for his brother. That was more than a fair trade. He was going to Hell anyway, what did it matter if he went a little early?

When Sam opened his eyes all Dean wanted to do was kiss him. The urge was so strong and so intense that he had to swallow it down and act as if nothing was wrong. Sam didn’t even know he’d been dead. Dean thought it was more important he deal with this than his incestuous desire for his little brother. In fact, he’d like to _never_ deal with his incestuous desire for his little brother.

And things were okay for a while- until Sam found out about his deal.

Sam couldn’t leave well enough alone. He had them searching for any answer under the sun that could get Dean out of his deal, chasing leads that went nowhere and that, if they had, Dean had no intention of taking. He had accepted his fate. If he tried to get out of this deal, Sam would die again, and that was worse than any Hell Dean could possibly imagine.

So for the better part of a year, Dean let Sam drag him across the country on leads so thin they were barely there. It didn’t matter, Dean would follow Sam anywhere and give him whatever he wanted as long as he was alive.

It was frustrating. Dean was never very good with words. He’d never had to be, they both knew how much they cared for each other, how much they’d do for each other. But did Sam really  _know?_ Did he know that Dean wanted to wrap himself around his brother like a blanket to keep him safe and warm? Did he know that Dean wanted to hold him so close they melted together so he’d never have to lose Sam again- not to death, not to school, not to anything _ever?_ Did he know that Dean wanted to kiss him- like really kiss him, until Sam’s breath and Dean’s breath were the same thing and they weren’t sure if days or seconds had passed?

Did he know Dean wanted him? Wanted him more than he wanted anything in his life. And maybe that’s why he was okay with going to Hell. Because he knew he deserved it. If not for anything else than for this- definitely for this. Because this was _wrong_ in every fucked up sense of the word- even though every particle of his being screamed that it was right, that it was the only thing that _was_ right.

Every relationship that Dean had never had raced through his mind every time he dared to think about the way he felt about his brother. He searched desperately for just one other person he could have felt this way about- but no one held a candle to Sam. And that was terrifying in more ways than Dean was willing to admit.

So he did what he always did- he stuffed every fucked up thing he didn’t want to feel down deep, and he drank, and fucked, and killed until he could convince himself he was numb to it all. Numb to the way Sam smiled, to the way he breathed, to the way he laughed, to the way he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips when he was concentrating on research, to the way he said “Get this”, to the way he looked at Dean like he was going to be devastated when he was gone. Like Dean was _his_ whole life too.

And maybe he was.

Sam convinced Dean to fight, in the end. Of course he did, how could Dean say no to anything Sam asked?

But it didn’t matter.

Dean knew somewhere deep down that it never really mattered.

He was always going to Hell.

When he opened his eyes, at first he didn’t realize that he was alive. It was too dark, and it smelled like dirt, and his throat and lungs burned with disuse.

His first thought, when he realized he wasn’t in Hell anymore, was of Sam. Sam must’ve made a deal. He must’ve found some way to get Dean out, and that could only mean bad things. He had to get to Sam- to make sure he was alive, to get him out of suffering the same fate that Dean had, to undo whatever it was that he had done.

So he clawed his way out.

He clawed his way out to get to Sam.

Seeing Sam’s face for the first time in what to him was forty years was like taking his first gulp of fresh air all over again. He couldn’t ignore the pull, couldn’t push it down like he had for so long. He clung onto his brother for dear life and, God, he never wanted to let him go.

He wasn’t going to let him die again, no matter what sort of deal he’d made for him. He’d gladly go back to the pit if it meant Sam would live.

But it hadn’t been Sam who pulled him out.

Not that Sam hadn’t been trying, and when Dean found out exactly what that entailed, he couldn’t hold it all back anymore. He couldn’t shove it down and pretend everything was okay anymore. He’d been through enough. He’d been through Hell for Sam, and this was how he repaid him? Dean wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she was a demon that made him see red, or the surge of jealousy brewing in the pit of his stomach at Sam’s confession of exactly what he did with her.

Surely Sam had to know?

Dean didn’t want to talk about it, never wanted to _talk_ about it, but Sam _had_ to know. He couldn’t go another minute letting Sam think that what he did didn’t affect him, couldn’t go another minute letting Sam think he didn’t affect him in every way possible. So he stopped fighting and he did the only thing he ever wanted to do, the only thing that every part of his being had been screaming at him to do for years. He kissed him.

And it was _bliss_.

He kissed his brother roughly, hand in his hair and tongue sliding forcefully into his mouth, and the best part isn’t just that Sam _lets him_ , it’s that he _kisses back._ It’s not just surprise at what Dean is doing, or a result of the force he’s using, Sam is kissing him back because he _wants to_ and that makes Dean’s heart soar but his mind very, _very_ afraid.

He pulls away but Sam’s hands are in his shirt, holding him close, and he makes this little noise in the back of his throat that’s sort of a growl and sort of a whine and Dean wants to throw him back up against the wall and fuck him like there’s no tomorrow.

But he doesn’t. Because this is Sam. This is his brother, and this is _wrong_. Sam should be freaking out. _Why isn’t he freaking out?_

“Sam, we-”

“Don’t,” his brother interrupts him, giving him that pleading, puppy dog look that he’s never been able to say no to, “Don’t, Dean. Don’t shut down now.”

“Do- do you _want_ this?” he asks Sam, hope rising in his chest like hot air and threatening to escape him.

“God, yes, Dean, it’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Sam tells him, and Dean thinks he’s dreaming, or maybe he’s still dead and had somehow been brought to Heaven instead.

Then it all clicks for him. And when Sam admits that that’s why he had left them, Dean feels a weight leave his chest he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. He hadn’t chased his brother away. And more importantly, he didn’t have to hide in fear of doing it again. Sam wanted _him_ , too.

And Dean _laughs_ , laughs because it didn’t matter how fucked up this was, or he was, ‘cause Sam was equally as fucked and that somehow made it better. Easier, he supposed. Sure, they were still sinning, but since when had he been one to care? He didn’t need God’s approval, only Sam’s.

When they kiss again, it’s gentle, it’s slow, and dare he say _loving_. He knew the minute that Sam’s soft lips met his across the space of their breath that he was giving it up to his brother tonight. As much as he wanted to fuck Sam into next week, he wanted Sam inside him more. Wanted him to fuck him hard and deep until there was no one but Sam. Until the memory of every other guy he’d drunkenly crawled into bed with was gone and replaced by the only one he ever wanted to touch him again.

Dean gives himself to his brother in more ways than one that night. The sex is everything he’d ever imagined it would be and more- but he wasn’t a fucking pussy so he wasn’t gonna tell Sam that. Wasn’t even gonna tell him how often he’d imagined it, touched himself to the thought of this very moment. Wasn’t gonna tell him how sweet it was to be filled up by his brother, to have this, to _give him_ this.

But he did tell him he loved him.

Not because it needed to be said, but because he just had to make sure Sam _knew_.

And that seemed like the beginning of something, but at the same time it wasn’t the beginning, it was more like the middle because they were always meant to end up here in each other’s arms.

What it _was_ the beginning of was a sex marathon that was giving even Dean a run for his money. Every available moment their hands were on each other, their lips were pressed together, their teeth were leaving marks in each other’s skin. Turns out, Sam was _rough_. And Dean certainly wasn’t complaining, he liked it rough, liked the pain, liked the marks Sam left on him, liked how controlling he got and how dirty his mouth could be- but he was starting to feel fucked out.

“Sam,” he protests as Sam shoves him up against the back of a motel room door the minute they drop their bags, “Dude, wait.”

“Wanted to fuck you that entire ride,” Sam murmurs against his skin, and Dean is certainly grateful that Sam got over the embarrassment of talking to his brother that way so quickly because Sam’s mouth is absolutely sinful and Dean could listen to his baby brother spew filth forever.

“You _did_ fuck me on the ride,” Dean mutters, “We pulled over twice! That’s why we got here so late!”

“Whatever,” Sam says, “Take off your clothes.”

“No, Sammy, stop,” he pushes his brother back gently, and Sam stops to give him a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Dean?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together in worry.

“I’m fine, Sam, I’m just _tired_. Not to mention sore,” he sighs, “You gotta give me some time, man, I’m not that young anymore.”

Sam laughs, “Dude, you’re 29!”

“Yeah, well I feel like I’m a hundred,” Dean grunts.

“Alright,” Sam says, dropping it.

Dean thinks Sam is actually upset with him about it for a second and he wants to laugh because if anyone was gonna get upset about being turned down for sex it _would_ be Sam, and Dean can just imagine that adorable pout, but when he looks Sam is smiling. Of course he is, because Sam is a beacon of “ultimate understanding” or whatever, and it doesn’t matter that he’s so hard he’s straining through his jeans, he’s respecting Dean’s wishes- or whatever.

Dean suddenly wonders whether he could go just _one more_ round.

He’s a little surprised when Sam crawls in bed next to him even though they aren’t having sex. They’ve never been touchy-feely, or at least they like to pretend that they’re not, and Dean wonders if this is crossing some sort of invisible border- as if having sex with his brother hadn’t already crossed that line a million times over.

He doesn’t push him away though, doesn’t even make some snarky remark about Sam being a cuddler, just lets him slip up beside him and falls asleep in his arms.

Sam doesn’t even touch him all the next day and this is _not_ what he meant by “some time” damn it! Every time Dean tries to kiss him, or pull him close he pulls away and Dean wonders if maybe _now_ he’s mad at him, except he’s smirking at Dean like he knows something Dean doesn’t and it’s driving him friggen insane.

“Dean, if you don’t stop touching me, this poor girl is going to notice something and how professional does that sound to you?” Sam mutters to him quietly when they have a moment away from the witness they’re interviewing.

“I’m okay with that,” he says, smirking and trying to snake his hands up his brother’s shirt.

“Can we focus on the job, please?” Sam slaps his hands away and raises one condescending eyebrow at him.

Dean pouts but he supposes he’s right so even though he just wants to rip that suit the hell off his brother, the next few hours are dedicated to hunting down a damn shifter.

And it’s a bit of a close call.

They come out of it with more than a few bruises, and Sammy’s got a broken rib. Dean’s more than a little angry that Sam went in without him and got himself hurt. The tension in the air is palpable- waves of heat and anger roll off the both of them as they exchange heated words and quick insults, but the underlying message is clear in each bit of poison they spit.

_“You worried me._

_I care about you._

_I don’t want to lose you._

_I love you.”_

 

_“I’m sorry._

_I tried._

_I just wanted to protect you._

_I love you.”_

Dean lets Sam relax in the motel and he goes out to get them take out.

Seeing Sam hurt had jarred him, it always did. There was nothing like the job they did to remind them just how much they needed each other.

Dean could convince himself that it was just sex all he wanted, that it was just one fucked up step deeper into how codependent they’ve always been, but he couldn’t take back the words he’d said to Sam that first night together and he couldn’t deny that he’d be lost without his brother.

After all, Sam was his whole life.

When he gets back to the motel, he nearly drops the food at the sight awaiting him on the bed. Sam, very naked, and all spread out for him, propped up on his elbows so he can meet Dean’s eyes and give him the most sultry looking smirk that Dean thinks should be illegal.

“What the hell, dude?” Dean asks dryly, not quite sure he remembers how to move his feet but they seem to be carrying him toward the bed anyway.

“You said you were sore,” Sam shrugs, “I figured that means it’s my turn to bottom.”

“Holy fuck,” Dean breathes, running one shaky hand through his hair and turning away from the sight for a minute to set the fast food bag down, “You don’t have to, Sammy, I mean- fuck.”

“Come on, big brother,” Sam practically _purrs_ , and Dean thinks he’s gonna blow his load in his pants like a goddamn teenager, “You took too long with the food, I’m already ready for you. I mean, I could go on myself but I don’t think my fingers are going to cut it for me anymore.”

 _“Jesus Christ, Sam!”_ he groans, pulling his shirt off and loosening his belt as he walks toward the bed.

Sam’s fingers catch his belt loops and tug him between his spread legs, and Dean’s tumbling over his little brother with his pants halfway down. Their lips meet in a violent, heated crash as Sam catches him. Sam’s hands are sliding impatiently down his body toward his cock, and Dean’s honestly still trying to process the situation.

Then Sam’s large hand wraps around his cock and any hope of trying to process shit flies right out the window along with every other thought in his mind.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam rasps, dragging his hand tantalizingly slowly up and down Dean’s cock, “Fuck me already, or have you forgotten how to top?”

“Fuck, Sam, just… give me a minute,” Dean shudders, “Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay?”

Sam laughs, “I told you, I did that part without you,” he leans in close to Dean’s ear, kissing a hot trail up his throat to it before whispering, “I just wanna be fucked hard by my big brother now.”

Dean moans, but still he pulls away from Sam a little so he can look into those big brown eyes, smirk, and say, “Beg me for it, Sammy.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at him, seemingly contemplating the challenge, and Dean thinks maybe he’s in trouble. He’s mulling over just how ridiculously _okay_ with that he is when Sam bites his lip, giving him the most x-rated “come hither” look that Dean has ever seen in all his years of watching Asian cartoon pornos, and fucking _whines_ , “Please, Dean, please fuck me, big brother, want you inside me so badly.”

“Holy shit,” Dean growls, pinning his little brother to the bed and lining up to push inside him, “You got a filthy fucking mouth, Sammy.”

Sam nips his ear and wraps his legs around his waist to pull him deeper, moaning, “You… _ah!_ You love my… my filthy… mouth.”

“Love it more when it’s wrapped around my cock,” Dean pants, fucking his brother slowly but hard.

“You’re the one… with the, _ah_ , cock sucking lips, Dean,” he chuckles.

Dean growls and lowers his head to suck a mark into Sam’s neck while he fucks him deep and slow until he’s writhing underneath him and becoming obviously frustrated.

“Fuck, Dean, harder!” Sam growls at him.

“You broke your rib, Sam, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he mutters, kissing over the mark he’d left.

“I’ve taken worse,” Sam gasps, bucking his hips up into his brother’s.

“Fuck, Sammy, you make it so hard for me to control myself.”

“Then don’t!” Sam begs, “I want you to be rough, Dean. I want _you_. I want _this_.”

And that’s all it takes.

Dean is weak. He’s always been weak when it comes to Sam, why should this be any different?

The room is filled with grunts and moans, and a thousand cries of, “Dean, oh God, Dean, yes!” as he lets himself go and gives his little brother what he’s been begging for. It’s hot, and it’s intense, and he’s overwhelmed, and he grabs Sam’s hair and yanks his mouth up to meet his so he can cry his passion into his brother’s mouth while he fucks him senseless.

Sam’s filthy mouth is going a mile a minute, and Dean catches little moaning snippets of what he’s saying when he’s not busy trying to devour his older brother. Little bits of, “God,” and “Yes!” and “Dean!” and “always wanted,” and “feels so good,” and honestly Dean gets the gist and it spurs him on even more.

“Oh God, Dean! Oh God, Dean! _Dean!”_ Sam is crying and Dean can just barely hold on.

“You gonna come for me untouched, baby brother?” he rasps in Sam’s ear and Sam lets out a long whining moan and nods vigorously against his shoulder. “Do it then,” he whispers softly, catching Sam’s earlobe between his teeth and nipping it gently, “Come for me, Sammy. Wanna see you.”

And Sam comes hard, harder than he ever did when he was on top, and that filthy mouth of his lets out a loud, long moan and Dean is sure they just woke up not only the neighbors, but possibly everyone in a 5 mile radius.

Sam’s back arches, and he claws at his brother’s shoulders, and Dean is hanging on for dear life to his little brother as he fucks him through his orgasm and follows him blindly over the edge.

“God, Dean,” Sam pants, smiling at him as he crawls off of him and sinks back against the pillows beside him, “Always wanted you to do that.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, closing his eyes for a minute as he tries to catch his breath, “How long is always?”

“Like… Ever since I even knew what sex _was_ ,” Sam admits, “You brought all these girls home all the time and they sure looked like they were enjoying themselves…” he trails off, slightly red, though whether it’s from embarrassment or the exertion of what they just did Dean doesn’t know.

“Really?” Dean asks, slightly shocked, “You saying we could’ve been doing this since the moment you turned legal?”

Sam laughs, “Yeah, you fucking pervert, that’s what I’m saying.”

“You- what? Hid in the literal closet and watched your brother fuck a bunch of chicks- and _I’m_ the pervert?” Dean shoots back, stretching as he gets up out of bed.

“Alright, point taken,” his brother allows, “Where are you going?”

Dean shoots him a look, “Dude. Food.”

Sam laughs as Dean tosses his salad container at him.

“How’s your ribs?” Dean asks worriedly around a mouthful of cheeseburgers.

Sam smiles at him and it’s like the first time Sam ever made his heart stop all over again. That small, knowing, grateful smile that’s full of love and a hundred other things they never say because they don’t have to.

“They’re fine, Dean, thanks,” he says.

“Well… good,” is all Dean can come up with and he feels stupid, but then Sam gives him a little kiss on the cheek- one that is definitely more than brotherly and more than just sex- and nothing else matters anymore.

The only thing that matters is that they’re both here, both alive, and together and that they both finally stopped being stupid and told each other, or _showed_ each other rather, how they feel.

They really don’t need to say it out loud, Dean can see it in Sam’s smile, feel it in his kiss, and hear it in every loving word vaguely masked as an insult.

Sam loves him.

And Dean knows he loves Sam too, more than he could have possibly loved anyone.

Sam is his whole life.


End file.
